


Lights That the Stars Will See

by miloowen



Series: The Post-A Million Sherds Universe [7]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Family, Grief/Mourning, Hanukkah, M/M, Spiritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:29:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miloowen/pseuds/miloowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sascha's first Chanukah is in memory of his namesake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights That the Stars Will See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larissabernstein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larissabernstein/gifts).



> Set in the post-Sherds universe. Dr Alasdair Gidon McBride (2315-2388) was the psychiatrist who treated William Riker for PTSD in A Million Sherds.

Lights That the Stars Will See

 

            He was late from his tutorial, and he expected to find his fathers and his siblings at the table, because it was something the Captain insisted upon, whenever they could all be in one place at one time.  Their current mission, Sascha knew, was one of scientific exploration, and so the Captain was not needed on the bridge nor was he on-call.  The Ambassador had just returned from an important series of meetings and was taking time owed.  Sascha was surprised, then, to walk into their quarters and find no communal dinner.  The Ambassador was reading to Jean-Guy; Rose was at the table working on some sort of project, there was no food anywhere, and the Captain was not present.

            “Papi?” Sascha said, placing his padd on the table next to Rose.  “Have I missed dinner?”

            Rose shoved his padd over and snorted.  “Yep,” she said.  “You’re in trouble, too.”

            “Rose,” Papi said.

            “Yes, sir?” Rose smirked at Sascha, and then turned on her “innocent” face to their father.

            “Why don’t you put your studies away, and finish reading to Jean-Guy for me?” Papi said, standing.  “You haven’t missed supper, Sascha.  It’s just a little later tonight.”

            “How come,” Sascha said, glaring at Rose, “she never gets in trouble for telling lies?”

            “You can go clean yourself up,” Papi said, ignoring him.  “We are eating out tonight.”

            “Me too?” Jean-Guy demanded.  “I’m eating out too!”

            Papi bent down and picked Jean-Guy up.  “Of course, you too,” he said.  “Be a good boy and let Rose finish the story.  I’ve got to clean up as well.”

            “Are we dressing for dinner, then?” Sascha asked, walking with his father towards the bedroom he shared with Jean-Guy.

            Papi glanced down at him, and then said, “Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt.”

            He would never roll his eyes at Papi, because he considered himself the good child, but he could feel that Rose had rolled her eyes behind his back.

            “I’m not wearing a dress,” Rose said.  “And no one can make me.”

            Sascha held his breath, because this was Papi she was speaking to, and not Dad, who tolerated, for some inexplicable reason, cheekiness from Rose.  Jean-Guy said, gleefully, “You’re in trouble now, Rosie.”

            Papi said, “No one, Rose, would dream of making you do anything.  You will finish reading to Jean-Guy, as I have asked.”

            There was silence, as if Rose were trying to decide if she’d been scolded, and Sascha shook his head in disgust.  Rose got away with everything, simply because she was a girl.  It was the only answer which made any sense.

            “Yes, sir,” Rose said.

            Well, good, Sascha thought, she was scolded then.  He walked into his bedroom, absently picking up Jean-Guy’s toys from the deck, and wondered where they were going to dinner and why.  The only logical place would be Seven Forward, he thought, but why would any of them need to dress up to go there?  He tried to remember if he’d heard of any ship’s gossip about VIPs onboard, but there’d been nothing said at school.  He stubbed his toe on a starship and swore softly.  As the captain’s son, he should know everything that was happening on the ship, and he kicked Jean-Guy’s ship so that it skittered across the deck.

            “I’m telling,” Jean-Guy said, standing in the doorway.

            Sascha said, without turning around, “If you do we will put you back in the box.”

            “I hate you,” Jean-Guy answered.  “Rose won’t read to me anymore because she says I’m dumb.  And you’re mean to me.”

            Sascha shrugged.  He took a clean pair of trousers and a shirt from his closet and began to undress.  “You _are_ dumb,” he said.  “I was reading at your age.  Did Papi tell you to get dressed?”

            “I don’t have anything to wear,” Jean-Guy said.  “You broke my ship.”

            “Did not.”  Sascha finished dressing, and then found clothes for his brother.  “Can you put them on yourself, or do you need me to help you?”

            “Daddy says I’m going to be as big as he is, when I grow up.”  Jean-Guy sat on the deck and pulled his trainers off.

            “So?” Sascha pretended not to care.  He would never be as tall as Dad.

            “And when I am,” Jean-Guy said, pulling his tunic over his head so that his voice was muffled, “I’m going to beat the shit out of you.”  Jean-Guy stood there with his shirt off and his fists clenched, and Sascha thought his eyes would roll out of his head.

            “Jean-Guillaume.”  Papi was in the doorway, already dressed.

            “Yes, sir.”

            “You will not use that language here.”

            “No, sir.”  Jean-Guy’s lip started to quiver, and Papi came in and sat down on the bed.  “Here, let me help you with that,” he said.  “Did Sascha pick these out for you?”  Jean-Guy nodded, and Papi continued, “That was nice of him, wasn’t it, and it looks as if your ship is not broken after all.”

            “Do you need me to do anything, Papi?” Sascha asked, because he was afraid Papi was unhappy with him.  Again.

            “The captain is on the observation deck,” Papi said, buttoning Jean-Guy’s shirt.  “Will you tell him we’re ready, and that we’ll meet him there?”

            “Yes, Papi,” Sascha said.  “Is it some sort of a surprise?”

            Papi smiled.  “I suppose it is,” he answered.  “Stop wriggling, Jean-Guy.”

            “But I like to wriggle,” Jean-Guy protested, and Papi laughed.

            Sascha rolled his eyes again, and walked back into the dayroom.  Rose was gone, having left her mess on the table, and he cleaned it up before he walked out into the corridor.  Dad didn’t usually go to the observation deck unless he was worried about something; Sascha was old enough to know this, and he was feeling a little angry that still no one thought he was old enough to know what was going on.  He stopped at the turbo lift and waited for the doors to open, and then he told the computer, “Observation deck.”  The _Titan_ was not a big ship, and there was only one observation deck; he never really understood why it was such a big deal to the Captain to go there.  The turbo lift stopped and he got off, and said hello to a couple of techs walking by, and he walked down the corridor to the doors to the observation deck and stepped in.

            The Captain was at the window, staring out, and that was normal, Sascha thought, because that’s the only thing he ever did, when he was on the observation deck.  But he’d pulled a small table over, and he had some sort of a candle holder (he couldn’t remember the word) on it, with two small candles in it, and then beside it was another candle, already burning.  Even though Sascha was not trying to make any noise, his father turned around and said,

            “Hello, son.”

            Sascha walked up to the table.  “Papi said he was almost finished getting ready,” Sascha said, “sir.  He said he would meet you there with Rose and Jean-Guy.”

            “Ah, okay,” the Captain said.  He was looking out the window again, and Sascha reached out and touched one of the candles.

            “What is this, Dad?” he asked.

            The Captain turned around and placed his hand on Sascha’s shoulder.  “It’s called a _chanukiya_ ,” he explained.  “A menorah.  It’s designed to hold these candles.  See, there are nine places for them.  This place in the centre for the _shammes_ candle, and then four places on either side.”

            Sascha looked at the whatever it was.  “But what is it?  Why are you lighting candles?” 

            “Why don’t you,” the Captain said, “grab a chair and bring it over here.”

            “Yes, sir.”  Sascha dragged one of the chairs over, and was surprised when the Captain sat down.

            “I suppose,” he said, smiling, “you are much too big to sit on my lap.”

            Mutely Sascha slid onto his father’s lap, and felt suddenly comforted by the warmth of his father’s arms around him.

            “We don’t talk much, do we, son?” the Captain said.  “I’m always too busy, and you’re always busy, and it seems there’s never any time…it was good of your papi to send you here, you know.”

            “Won’t we be late for the dinner?” Sascha asked.  He didn’t feel that he should, but he relaxed against his father’s chest and rested his head against his father’s chin.  His father was right.  He was too old to be sitting on his father’s lap.

            “They can hardly start it without us,” the Captain said, and Sascha could feel him laughing.

            “I don’t understand,” Sascha said.

            “Let me tell you a story,” the Captain began.  “How old are you, again?”

            “Ten, Dad.”  Sascha sighed.

            “Of course you are.” 

            “You were going to tell me a _story,_ ” Sascha reminded him.

            “Too big for sitting on my lap.  Too big for a _story_ ,” the Captain mused.  “I don’t seem to be getting this father thing very well, am I?”

            “Dad.”

            “Oh, all right,” the Captain said.  “We named you Alexandré.  Do you remember why?”

            “Because Papi’s French?”

            “Do I have Rose here, or my Sascha?” the Captain asked.

            “You have a friend who has that name, and you named me after him,” Sascha said.  “Just the French version, because of Papi.”

            “Yes.  Here, you really are too big,” his father said, sliding Sascha off and then standing.  “But he was my doctor first, before he was my friend.  His name was Alasdair, but he went by Sandy….”

            “Your doctor?”

            “You know how Papi is always telling me to breathe?”

            “Yes.”

            “I was very sick once, and Sandy McBride was my doctor.  He saved my life, and he helped bring Papi and I together.  I owe him a great deal, more than I could ever tell him, and so it seemed a good idea, when you were born, to thank him by giving you his name.”

            “Oh.”  Sascha wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.  He’d said he was too big to sit on his father’s lap and too big for a story, and he’d thought he was big enough to know what was going on.  But this was not the story he thought he was going to hear, and perhaps, he thought, he really wasn’t big after all.

            “Tonight is the first night of Chanukah,” the Captain continued.  “It’s a Jewish holiday, and you’ll learn more about it at dinner.  Dr McBride was Jewish, and an intensely spiritual man.  After I was well enough to leave sickbay, but still being treated by him for my illness, your Papi and I decorated the whole _D_ for him for a Chanukah party.  It was fun.  You’ll like Chanukah, I think.”

            Sascha watched as his father took a small hat off the table and put it on the top of his head, and then he handed a blue one to Sascha, and waited while Sascha put it on.  “It’s called a _kippah_ ,” the Captain said.  “I’m going to light the _shammes_ candle, and we’ll use that to light the first light of Chanukah.  And I’ll say the blessings, and then we can watch the candles burn.”

            Sascha nodded, because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.  The hat felt funny on the top of his head, as if it would fall off.  His father struck a match, and lit the white candle, and then he sang what he called the blessings, in a language Sascha had never heard before:  “ _Baruch ata Adonai, eloheynu melech ha-olam_ ….”

            “Each blessing,” the Captain explained, “has a different meaning.  The first is thanking God for the lighting of the holiday candles.  The second is thanking God for the festival season, and the third is thanking God for the holiday itself.  We’ll say these again, at dinner, and include the other blessings that go with them…but at Chanukah you are supposed to light the _chanukiya_ in a window, where the world can see that the lights of Chanukah are shining.  So I thought I would do it here.  Perhaps tomorrow night we can bring everyone here, and light them so that the stars can see.”

            Sascha was quiet.  He didn’t know what this holiday was, nor what it meant, but he could tell it meant something to his father.  He knew his father couldn’t be Jewish, because how could he not know something like that?  And neither the Captain nor Papi ever mentioned “God” in conversation, unless, Sascha thought, it was to say a bad word....He didn’t know what to do.  The lights were pretty, as far as candles went, but he was fairly sure stars didn’t see anything at all, and since they were at warp drive, what could possibly see anything anyway?  He felt he was missing something, something important.

            “What about the other candle?” he asked.

            “It’s a _Yahrzeit_ candle,” the Captain said.  “A candle that you light in memory of someone who has died.”

            “Oh.”  He didn’t look at his father, just took his father’s hand.  “I’m sorry, Dad,” he said.

            “Yeah.  Thanks.  I wish he could have met you.  He would have liked you.”

            “Was he in Starfleet?”

            “No.  He was a civilian doctor, but he worked for Starfleet for many years.  Then,” the Captain said, “he retired and went home to Betazed, where he taught at the University and worked in his garden.”

            “Was he old?”

            Surprisingly, his father laughed.  “Old, perhaps, but not ancient like your Papi. Here, we’ll blow out the candles – which we’re not supposed to do, so don’t tell the rabbi – and we’ll take the _Yahrzeit_ candle with us, okay?  I’m sure they’re waiting for us.”

            Sascha nodded, and he took the _chanukiya_ when it was handed to him.  His father bent down and kissed his cheek, something he was glad he wasn’t too big for, and then his father took his hand and they walked carefully down the corridor to the turbo lift, the light of the memorial candle flickering in his father’s hands. 


End file.
